


You might be my rainbow

by AmithiaEmrys (amithia)



Series: The Melee (prompts) [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Airports, Arthur is a dick, Fear of Flying, First Meetings, Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, Merlin's smitten, POV Merlin (Merlin), until he's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29195634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amithia/pseuds/AmithiaEmrys
Summary: Merlin’s never been a big fan of rain. Definitely not a fan of flying.Enter a gorgeous, patronizing stranger who might just change Merlin's mind.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: The Melee (prompts) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141421
Comments: 20
Kudos: 105
Collections: The Melee Challenge





	You might be my rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Melee challenge. The prompt word was **rain.**
> 
> I'm shit when it comes to actual plot, so thank you **Ily** (youkeepmeright) for coming up with this idea. I love you <3
> 
> Unbeta'd

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin repeats for a millionth time as the security lady glares daggers at him, most unimpressed, tapping her foot impatiently. He really doesn’t mean to stall, but airports security checks freak him out almost as much as the actual flying. _Almost._ He searches frantically through his backpack as he tries and fails to dig out all the electronic devices he’s packing to leave them out for inspection.

“I’m really sorry!” he cries, letting out a relieved breath as his hand finally curls around the power bank.

“Is that all, sir?” the lady questions, deadpan, not bothering to conceal her annoyance.

“Yes.”

“Any liquids? Aerosols? Flammables?”

“No,” he replies, then remembers, “Yes!” The lady’s eyes narrow into slits. “Sorry. I have a bottle of sanitizer somewhere in there. Give me a sec.” He grabs his backpack again, digging through it’s contents, cursing under his breath when he can’t locate the small bottle.

He jumps at the irritated voice that comes next. “You idiot. Have you never flown before?”

Face going aflame, Merlin turns to his right, his sight falling on the indignant stranger. Who also happens to be the most gorgeous human being Merlin’s ever seen. He’s clad in an expensive looking suit, the cobalt blue tie bringing out the color of his eyes. He nearly swallows his tongue, staring at the blond Adonis with his mouth hanging open. _Well done, Merlin._

“S-sorry,” he repeats once more, erratically searching for the sanitizer. “I tend to get nervous during security checks. I usually have everything ready, but the train was delayed, and then I got a bit lost, and then-”

“I don’t care,” the stranger snaps, his voice growing in volume. Merlin gnaws at his lower lip, trying not to let his embarrassment show. “Would you hurry up?”

“Sorry,” Merlin apologizes again. God, he sounds annoying even to his own ears.

“Sir,” the lady says, talking to the stranger this time. “If you’re ready, you can go first.”

“Brilliant,” the man replies, grabbing his sleek black suitcase and coming around Merlin to get in front of him. He presents his case for inspection, taking a basket from underneath and throwing his phone, keys and a laptop bag in. He then starts unbuckling his belt, and Merlin only barely manages to suppress the high-pitched squeak he feels forming and threatening to get out. To preserve his sanity (and dignity), he refocuses on finding the damned sanitizer, exhaling in a whoosh when he locates it.

When he looks at the stranger next, the man’s already passed through the security check and is currently gathering all his belonging, a perpetual frown on his face as he works on threading the belt through the loops of his slacks. Merlin knows he’s openly staring, and yet he can’t bring himself to look away.

“Sir!” the lady’s stern voice pulls him back from his reverie. “You think you’re ready now?”

He shakes himself off. “Yes!” he replies, laughing nervously. He spares the stranger one more glance and finds him already one. It’s for the best, anyway. He shoots the lady a sheepish grin as he organizes his baskets, undoing his own belt and putting it with the rest of his stuff. He walks trough the body scanner, relaxing when he doesn’t set it off, then proceeds to put his belongings in the backpack and his belt back on.

He checks the gate number on his boarding pass and the departure board, finding it already open (which is no surprise, considering how late he arrived to the airport). He makes his way to the gate, following the signs.

He freezes momentarily when passes by the first window, anxiety overtaking him as he watches the torrential downpour outside. It was kinda gloomy when he was leaving Gaius’s place, but it wasn’t raining. Now, he can barely see the outline of the planes on the runway, the rain is so thick.

Merlin’s never been a big fan of rain. A tough life for a British citizen, yeah, he knows. But he outright loathes it during flying. Like the flying itself is not stressful enough. He closes his eyes briefly, trying to recall all the meditation techniques he learned in his yoga classes. It helps only marginally.

An announcement comes from the speakers, encouraging the passengers on his flight to London to make their way to the assigned gate. He pushes his anxiety away and keeps walking, breaking into a light jog when he spots his gate and finds that most passengers have already boarded the plane.

He hands his pass to a member of the crew at one of the desks with a shaky hand, nodding in acknowledgment when she wishes him a good flight. He nearly replies with “You too” but catches himself just in time to swallow the words down before he can embarrass himself further.

He walks through the tiny aisle - this surely must be one of the smallest planes he’s ever flown with - looking for his seat and praying there’s still some space left for his backpack.

He arrives to 18B and his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as he stares down at the man sitting in 18A.

“Um, hi?” he says lamely, adding an awkward wave and promptly gives himself and internal face-palm.

The gorgeous man looks up from the emergency leaflet he’s been studying with the same frown he was sporting before. His now familiar blue eyes land on Merlin, his frown deepening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he huffs exasperatedly, running a hand over his face. He looks at Merlin again. “You’re blocking the path.”

“What?” Merlin blinks, then startles when he notices a small line of people waiting for him to secure his backpack in the compartment above so they can pass. “Sorry!” he says, giving up on trying to count how many times he’s said that in the past hour, and rushes to squeeze his backpack into the tiny space available in the compartment. He smiles in victory when it fits, looking at the man as a proud kid, his delight dissipating when the man only rolls his eyes and turns to stare out of the window.

Chastised, Merlin slides gingerly to his seat, fastening the seat-belt around his waist the second he sits down, making it extra tight. Finally, he allows himself to relax a little, his first thought belonging to the man next to him.

“I wouldn’t expect to see you in the economy class,” he says without meaning to. Damn his mouth that works faster than his almost non-existent filter.

The man turns to stare at him with a squint. “Excuse me?”

“Just a thought,” Merlin rushes to clarify, rubbing the back of his neck. “You seem like someone who travels in the business class.”

“I fail to see how that’s any of your concern,” the man retorts.

Merlin’s shoulders slump a little at the reaction. “Right, of course,” he agrees, grimacing at his own behavior. He knows he rambles on his good days, but trust him to make a fool of himself in front of a gorgeous stranger. “Sorry.” The man ignores him. “I’m Merlin, by the way,” he adds, since there’s not much that can make the situation worse (after all, anxiety works wonders on preventing one from getting inappropriate boners).

The stranger doesn’t react and before Merlin can think of something else to say, the pilot’s voice comes from the speakers, welcoming everyone on board and giving general safety instructions which are followed by a demonstration from a couple of the crew members.

Merlin stiffens as he watches the stewardess explain how to behave in case of emergency and he feels the man next to him do the same, his body growing even more rigid. Maybe he hates flying just as much as Merlin does.

Shortly, the engines are turned on, the whole plane vibrating it, and way too soon they are moving on the runway.

Merlin dares a glance out of the window, his anxiety growing when the rain only seems to have grown heavier. To his surprise, he finds the man in the same predicament, holding his breath and shooting panicked glances at the downpour.

“Hey,” Merlin says in soothing voice, “it’s okay. It’s just rain. Planes fly in the rain all the time,” he continues with fake confidence.

“I know that!” the man shoots back, clearly irritated, but this time Merlin doesn’t take it so personally. Not when he finally has some context to go with the man’s stinky demeanor.

Ignoring his outburst, he asks, “What’s your name?” He doesn’t really expect an answer, so it comes as a surprise when the man replies with whispered, “Arthur. My name is Arthur.”

The grin that appears on Merlin’s face nearly splits his face in half. He knows he must look like more of an idiot than usual, but he can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

“Arthur,” he echoes, loving the way the name rolls off of his tongue. To his utter delight, he watches Arthur look at him shyly before he ducks his head. Arthur brings both hisb hands to his face, rubbing tiredly at the corners of his eyes. He slides his fingers through his hair, ruining the carefully styled look.

Merlin knows it’s stupid, but he swears he falls in love a little bit right then and there. “It’s nice to meet you,” he adds with a smile, earning a scoff in return.

“Right.”

“I mean it,” he insists, letting his head roll to the side so he can look at Arthur better without twisting his whole body. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared!” Arthur defends with a sneer, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just hate flying, ‘s all.”

Merlin does his best to keep the giggle at bay and fails.

“Are you laughing at me?!” he accuses, which just makes Merlin giggle more.

“No,” he replies unconvincingly. “It’s just cute how hard you try to make yourself look brave and unaffected.” He regrets the words the second they are out. He looks at Arthur in panic and Arthur returns it. Before either of them can say something else, the plane speeds up, preparing for take-off.

Arthur seems to want to blend into his seat, given how he curls in on himself, eyes closed and brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Merlin would be looking the exact same right now if he wasn’t so mesmerized by the sheer beauty of Arthur’s... everything, even in the midst of a panic. Knowing Arthur won’t open his eyes until they are safely in the air (as safe as one can be in a metal deathtrap), he lets himself savor the picture Arthur makes. If Merlin really lets his imagination run loose, he can almost convince himself that Arthur’s making this face for an entirely different reason.

Despite the situation, he feels heat spread throughout his whole body, pooling low in his belly and settling there with a pleasant thrum. Merlin is not usually like this, so easily affected and unable to keep himself in check. Not even Arthur’s shitty behavior dispelled Merlin’s desire for him.

He’s not sure how much time has passed, but suddenly Arthur’s opening his eyes, blinking slowly to adjust his vision, and only then does it occur to Merlin they have taken off and are currently miles in the air. How the hell did he not notice?!

“You okay?” Merlin asks, clearing his throat when the words come out hoarse and deep.

“For now,” Arthur replies, exhaling through his pursed lips. “Still need to survive the landing.”

***

Arthur doesn’t truly relax even when they reach their desirable altitude, but he does engage in small talk with Merlin, evidently grateful for the distraction.

Merlin learns that Arthur works for his father’s company and travels a lot, mostly around Europe but not limited to it. Arthur actually prefers long-haul flights where he can get some shut-eye, making up for the miserable five hours of sleep he usually gets when he stays in London and works from his office. He does, in fact, travel in the business class 90 percent of the time, but this time he got an emergency call from his father, ordering him to get his ass back to London asap. It turned out the earliest available flight was this one, which unfortunately only offers economy seats. And that’s how Arthur ended up here.

Merlin shares tidbits of his life-story as well, but not too much as to bore Arthur to death. He briefly explains that he was in Amsterdam visiting his uncle Gaius who’s a self-proclaimed physician. Very popular in Amsterdam due to his vast collection of herbs and supposedly magical plants. Arthur asks if Gaius eloped to Amsterdam so he could grow and sell weed. Merlin doesn’t dignify that question with an answer. Arthur laughs then, for the first time. It’s boisterous and beautiful and genuine and Merlin might be in trouble. Arthur’s shoulders keep shaking with aftershocks and Merlin realizes with horror that it’s too late - he most definitely _is_ in trouble.

For the first time in his life, Merlin wishes the plane would never land.

He changes his mind just moments later.

Due to the plane’s small size in combination with the insistent rain, they’ve been experiencing light turbulences throughout the whole flight, nothing unusual. But it’s not until they are 40 minutes in that the turbulences become truly worrisome. Well, being the overthinker he is, Merlin’s been worried since he set a foot on the plane. Hell, since he arrived at the Schiphol Airport. But Arthur doesn’t need to know that.

“This can’t be normal,” Arthur whimpers, eyes squeezed shut in a way that looks painful, hands desperately scrambling at the armrest. “God, I’m gonna die here. We’re all gonna die.”

It’s a strange feeling. Usually, it’s Merlin who needs to be comforted, to be told that all of this is normal for short-distance flights, that you don’t need to panic unless you witness flight attendants freak out. That’s when you know you’re screwed. Having been on the receiving end of that particular pep-talk countless times, Merlin knows it’s no help. Logic counts for nothing when anxiety takes the reins.

“Arthur?” Merlin says gently in hopes of steering Arthur’s attention away from the dreadful way the plane jumps and shakes every now and then. If he’s being honest, he could use a distraction as well. “Arthur?” he tries again, firmer when Arthur keeps his eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into the armrest. Merlin’s eyes stay glued to the white-knuckled grip, a lump in his throat when he thinks about what he’s going to do next.

He turns in his seat, facing ahead, body stiff with anticipation and hands folded in his lap. With bated breath, he raises his left hand, willing it to stop trembling as he places it over Arthur’s on the armrest.

It takes all of three seconds for Arthur to register the alien sensation of someone else touching him, but when he does his eyes shoot open. He snaps his head to look directly at Merlin, the action so sudden and quick Merlin worries he might have hurt himself.

“What are you doing?” he demands, gaze flicking between Merlin’s face and the point of connection, eyes growing wider by the second. To Merlin’s relief, he doesn’t sound angry or disgusted, just genuinely baffled.

“I thought it might help,” Merlin explains lamely, his voice so weak he doesn’t recognize it as his own. Arthur just keeps staring at him, almost unblinking, but even then he doesn’t attempt to pry his hand from under Merlin’s. To Merlin’s bewilderment, he actually feels Arthur’s death grip loosen, his hand relaxing under Merlin’s.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Merlin starts moving his thumb over the knuckles of Arthur’s hand, brushing back and forth with short, tender strokes. His mouth falls open, ready to come up with an apology when he registers what he’s doing. He doesn’t get a chance to voice it.

Arthur’s face changes color, turning pink, and he quickly averts his gaze, looking straight ahead, then out of the window. Still, he doesn’t move his hand away.

Dumbstruck and confused, Merlin keeps his hand in place as well, unwilling to move it in case Arthur won’t allow the touch again if Merlin breaks it now. He lets himself relax, sinking into his seat, focusing on the warmth radiating from Arthur’s skin. 

A series of exclamation marks flashes in his mind when Arthur starts wiggling his hand, but instead of withdrawing it, like Merlin would expect, he only turns it palm up and _oh God, intertwines his fingers with Merlin’s!_

Too shocked at the development and too scared to break the spell, Merlin stares resolutely ahead, taking shallow breaths so he moves as little as possible. He dares a quick look at Arthur from the corner of his eye, hoping he’s as inconspicuous as he aims to be. Arthur remains in the exact same position, with the exact same expression as before. Merlin allows himself to breathe more deeply.

He doesn’t know how long he has before Arthur becomes aware of what he’s doing (since Merlin assumes Arthur wouldn’t do such thing if he was in his right mind) and decides to revel in it for as long as he can.

The pilots voice comes through the speakers again, announcing they’ll be landing in a few minutes and asking the passengers to fasten their seat-belts (which, in Merlin’s and Arthur’s case, is very much redundant, given the fact they haven’t unfastened it since they took off in Amsterdam).

Merlin makes peace with the fact that Arthur is going to pull his hand back any moment now. Once again, he’s proven wrong when instead of doing that, Arthur tightens his grip further, holding onto Merlin’s hand for dear life when the plane starts to descend. Merlin feels his heart in his throat and he’s not sure it’s due to the unpleasant, sinking feeling in his stomach as the pressure begins to drop. He holds Arthur’s hand tighter as well, just because he can, and because he knows he’ll never get to do this again.

Way too soon - and since when did Merlin start wishing that landing would take longer? - the undercarriage touches the runway at London City Airport, much gentler than one would expect after such a rough flight. Instead of relief of being safely back on the ground, Merlin can feel his anxiety spike.

The plane taxis for a bit, until it’s safely parked, and Arthur still hasn’t pulled away. Curious, Merlin turns to look at the man properly, finding Arthur already staring back, wide eyed and disheveled.

“We did it,” Merlin speaks first, offering a crooked smile. “We survived.”

Arthur huffs in response, sounding both amused and exasperated. His gaze falls on their joined hands and his brows furrow as though this is the first time he noticed.

Finally, he untwines their hands, slow and deliberate, and Merlin appreciates the gesture. Although he already mourns the loss, missing the warmth of Arthur’s hand the second it’s gone, he’s just grateful that Arthur doesn’t simply snatch his hand away, acting like Merlin’s touch repels him. 

Merlin opens his mouth, ready to say something, anything at all, when the seat-belt light turns green, allowing the passengers to get out of their seats and take their luggage from the overhead compartment. Making himself busy, Merlin does just that, standing up and opening the compartment, extracting his backpack first before he recognizes Arthur’s suitcase. He slings the backpack over his shoulder and pulls out the suitcase as well, offering it to Arthur.

“That one is yours, right?” he checks.

Arthur startles a little, as if Merlin pulled him from a deep thought, and eventually nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Awkward silence follows and Merlin is relieved when the doors open and the line of people in the aisle starts moving. He makes his way to the exit, painfully aware that Arthur is right behind him.

Two buses are waiting for them outside and they both manage to squeeze into the same one, pressed side to side. Arthur keeps his head down, but Merlin can still make out the slight blush coloring his cheeks. He knows it probably means nothing, and yet his stomach does a series of somersaults.

The bus drops them off at one of the entrances and they make their way to the passport check. They’re out fairly quickly, coming to the baggage claim point.

“Have you checked anything in?” Arthur asks, speaking for the first time since they left the plane. He’s staring at Merlin’s shoes instead of looking him in the eye, but Merlin will take what he can get.

“No. I travel light.”

Arthur nods in acknowledgment and follows the signs leading to the exit, Merlin trailing behind him defeatedly. So this is it. They will part ways and Merlin will never see him again.

They walk out of the airport together, Arthur immediately searching for a cab. He spots one just a few meters away, but instead of going for it he turns to Merlin.

“Wanna share a cab?” he asks and for some reason he sounds embarrassed. Merlin finds it annoyingly endearing.

“Thank you, but no,” he says regretfully. “I’ve arranged for someone to pick me up. She’ll be here soon.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, and if Merlin didn’t know better, he’d swear it sounds a lot like disappointment. “That’s... nice,” he comments. “She must be lovely.”

Wait. Is he... is Arthur being _jealous_? It’s most likely just a wishful thinking, but it makes Merlin smile dopily anyway.

“She is,” he agrees, grinning like a loon when Arthur drops his gaze and frowns some more, automatically nodding in response. “Gwen is the best flatmate I’ve ever had. Don’t know what I’m gonna do when she moves in with her boyfriend,” he continues, keeping his voice level and only barely managing to suppress a giggle when Arthur’s head snaps back up, looking at Merlin questioningly and... maybe even hopefully. And to make absolutely sure that Arthur knows what Merlin’s trying to get across, he adds, “Most of my friends already live with someone. And I loath searching for flatmates. You wouldn’t believe how many homophobic assholes there are.”

At that, Arthur makes an unidentifiable noise, turning bright red in the face. Instead of stammering, or backing away, as Merlin would expect him to do, Arthur says, “I’m sorry for how I acted at the security check. And on the plane.” He grimaces at the memory. “In case it escaped your notice, I am a... um, a nervous flyer. Plus, the whole day has been a mess. I wasn’t supposed to be back in London until Friday, but then my father called me, saying it was an emergency and I was just really, really tired. And stressed.” He looks at Merlin bashfully, his blue eyes bright and honest. “Sorry for being such an ass to you. You really helped, you know? During the flight.”

It’s a silly thing, having your heart burst with affection towards someone you’ve known for less than two hours, but Merlin’s never been very conventional. “Right back at you,” he replies, Arthur tilting his head in confusion. “Seeing you freak out kinda calmed me down. Actually, having someone to calm down calmed me down. It’s pretty stupid, but it worked.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m scared of flying, too. Actually, I’m scared of anything that has to do with flying. Including airports. Hence, why I was such a disaster at the security check. I’m not usually _that_ clumsy.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What?!” Arthur outright squeals. “ _You_ are scared of flying?!”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t freak out at all!” Arthur argues.

“Yeah, I did,” Merlin insists. “Internally.”

Arthur sighs dramatically. “Could have fooled me.”

“Thanks.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur demands with no bite. Merlin already loves the way his name sounds in Arthur’s infuriatingly beautiful posh accent.

Silence falls over them again and before Merlin has a chance to break it, Gwen’s car pulls up not far behind Arthur, honking twice to get Merlin’s attention. He jumps in surprise, shakes himself off and waves at Gwen to let her know he noticed her.

“That’s my ride,” he announces, hoping Arthur can detect the regret in his voice.

“Oh. Right,” Arthur replies, fidgeting with the handle of his case. He doesn’t seem to want to say anything else, so Merlin braces himself for a goodbye.

“You want to get dinner sometime?” Arthur suddenly blurts out, effectively rendering Merlin speechless. Witnessing Merlin’s blank stare, he starts to panic. “Or not! Shit, I don’t know what I said that for. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought you might want to catch up and- Actually, of course you don’t. Why would you, I was a dick to you to begin with and-”

Merlin’s sure he’ll spontaneously combust from the adorableness of Arthur’s rambling if he doesn’t put a stop to it. So he does. He takes a step closer until he’s close enough to grab Arthur by the neck and pull him in for a kiss, chaste and quick but sweet. Arthur makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat. He doesn’t even have time to react before Merlin’s pulling away, his hand still on Arthur’s neck as he watches Arthur’s eyes flutter open, glazed over and so blue.

“I would love to,” he says with as much honesty as he can muster. Arthur blinks rapidly, finally catching up with the development.

“O-okay?” he stutters. Merlin could tease him about it, he has half the mind to do just that, but Arthur’s had a rough couple of hours and he doesn’t want to stress him further. If things work out the way he’s hoping, there will be plenty opportunities to make Arthur flustered. In a more fun way.

“Okay,” Merlin echoes, smiling toothily when Arthur ducks his head. So damn endearing. “I’ll give you my number.” He holds his hand out, waiting for Arthur to get the memo and pass him his phone. Once he does, Merlin punches his number in, adding a plane emoji next to his name. He gives the phone back to Arthur, biting back a smile when he watches him swipe his thumb over the new contact like it’s something precious.

“I’ll see you later, then?” he asks hopefully, making Arthur know he truly wants to see him again.

Arthur gives him a shaky smile. “See you later.”

Offering a smile of his own, Merlin leans in for a quick peck on the lips and starts walking towards Gwen’s car. He already knows he will have a lot explaining to do. Gwen won’t rest until she milks him of every little juicy detail. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to care.

“Take care, Arthur,” he says as he passes by him, brushing their hands together in the process. He doesn’t expect a reply, but Arthur manages a quiet “You, too” before Merlin’s too far to hear him.

Merlin’s never been a big fan of rain, but he thinks he might eventually come around. There’s no rainbow without rain, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been to London City Airport so excuse if something doesn't add up there ^^"


End file.
